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It’s good to see African Americans commenting on politics, reporting on financial news and even hosting their own political/entertainment shows on CNN.

We gays finally have the witty, intelligent, sexy and successful Rachel Maddow on MSNBC. Too bad my cable provider in Hong Kong doesn’t provide that channel.

The BBC has that sophisticated Sudanese sex kitten, Zeinab Badawi. A woman that both gay and straight men find equally appealing, but for entirely different reasons.

Even the Asians are kicking ass on CNBC, CNN and CNN International. Think Martin Soong, Atika Schubert and that feisty fashionista Alina Cho.

But as a Latino, I’m sad to see that the only news we get to report is the weather. And don’t give me that “What about Ed Lavandera?” crap. He’s one taco away from a heart attack. I’m sure the producers at CNN are already making that montage for when his belly finally explodes.

A weepy, bony Kiran Chetry speaking over video of Ed when he was in the pink: Ed Lavandera, you will be missed. When we come back, find out who’s tops at the box office! But before that, a check of the weather!

And out pops the Latino.

Mari Ramos with that manteca mouth of hers. Frijoles practically drip from her lips while che reports on da weather. “Aye, Dios Mios. Es going to thrain in Nicaragua. Mommi, bring in da cheekins, or jew won’t have paella when I come to visit jew en June.”

Lola Martinez, that Spanish dominatrix in her skin-tight, leather, lick-my-boot outfits, reads the weather with a snarl that leaves a whimpering Max Foster with an erection under his desk. At least she’s the antidote to that ray of plastic sunshine Jenny Harrison.

Then we have that phlegmy Guillermo Arduino from Argentina. There could be flash-floods in the Philippines or bush fires in Australia, but all this guy would want to talk about is the sunshine in Barcelona or the mudslides in Caracas. Anywhere that will allow him to speak Spanish in that over-articulated way of his. “Today, in ChiLE, sunchine. But dats not de case in Buenos AirES. The Rio Plata weell be aswollen over its banks so watch out.”

My God. These guys are the Mo, Larry and Curly of the weather.

Fat, funny, squishy mother type? Check. Sexy, sultry Spanish seductress? Check. Lisping, arrogant Argentine mama’s boy? Check.

Let’s get people who don’t fit cultural stereotypes.

Gay, misanthrope living in Hong Kong with a laptop, and an addiction to cable TV news? Guilty as charged.


Is there a support group for the children of Dittoheads?

Me: Hello everyone. My name is Mr. Y and (whimper, choke, whimper) my dad is a Dittohead.

Everyone: (Clapping) Hello Mr. Y. Welcome.

When I was a kid, my dad would talk the talk of a conservative. Small government. Personal liberty. Low taxes. Fiscal responsibility. And as a kid, I agreed. It was only on road trips to visit relatives that my mom would discuss her political views and challenge my dad’s way of thinking. He didn’t like this, and would shout, talk with his hands and get all Mexican until my mom would order him to calm down and keep his eyes on the road.

I would sit quietly in the back seat listening to The Carpenters or Leo Sayer or whoever else was on the radio and think, “Mom is right.”

Mom always wanted the government out of her life. She wants the freedom to make choices without anyone interfering. She hates paying taxes and even now will challenge the tax increases the city of San Antonio places on her house. She still physically balances her checkbook in pen and in an actual check book. She always tells me to save, save, save. And taught me to always look for a sale and at the best stores possible.

My dad is all for the integration of church and state. He opposes abortion personally and would like to make his opposition law for all people who, unlike him, actually have a uterus. He opposes gay marriage. (Dad, you know your son is gay and lives in Hong Kong with his partner, right? We all had margaritas on the river at Zuni Grill. Remember?). He was for the “War on Terror” because it was the right(wing) thing to do.

He kept his mouth shut when W was slashing taxes for the wealthy and running up huge debts. He never accompanies my mom to fight for lower taxes on their home. And recently, when my mom joined him while he was working on some project in Guatemala, it was she, not he, who had the cojones to complain that the shower was spewing scalding hot, then freezing cold water and that they needed another room.

“Why complain! Why do you have to complain!?” he screamed at my mom.

They got a better room and he will stay at a hotel that is not being renovated the next time he’s down there.

But he sits there watching FOX in the hotel. He cheered when Rush Limbaugh said he wanted Obama to fail. He laughed at the racist jokes his Republican “friends” would forward to him via email before the election. He listens to Limbaugh every weekday morning and watches FOX at full blast (he has a hearing problem but would probably listen full blast anyway) every day. My mom and I have to watch The View on low volume and then must change the channel when he enters the room.

He cannot stand to listen to Obama speak. He hates Hillary Clinton with a passion that scares me (and even I don’t care for her). He rants. He screams. He makes it difficult for my mom to maintain old friendships with family friends. He makes scenes at restaurants. He sits on the sofa biting his nails and then editorializing during the commercials.

He knows not to push me too hard because he’s seen me become the scary spic diva from hell (apple doesn’t fall far from the tree I guess). He says that all liberals are angry and sad but I disagree. Everyone I know who is left of center is hopeful and mostly happy–even when Bush was in power. We drink, talk, debate, discuss and disagree and then do it all over again. My dad the Dittohead? He sits on the sofa and screams at the TV. He has few friends.

Who doesn’t want lower taxes, fiscal discipline and personal liberty? Hell, sign me up. In theory, I have almost always agreed with my dad. In theory. In practice, the Republican Party as it is now, is not conservative. It is not a party for all. It is a party for the well fed. It is a party for those that think alike and look alike. It is a party that excludes. A party that dictates. A party that indoctrinates. A party that my brown, short, dark-skinned son of an illegal Mexican immigrant dad will never be invited to.

I like Christiana Amanpour. She with the jet-black bangs, mannish hands and shoulder pads. What’s not to like, admire and fear? It’s just that lately, I’ve been fearing her more than liking and admiring.

I blame that campy-creepy CNN ad for her special “God’s Warriors.” That damn promo seems to air morning, noon and night between every news segment. There she is, her gaze more maniacal than informed, her normally stiff mane blowing in the wind, her bellowing voice more holier than thou. And then it hit me. She sounds an awful lot like Damien from the Omen II. Even some of the promo’s dialogue seems lifted from the film.

Remember that part where Damien is trying to convince his beloved cousin, Mark, to join him? Mark’s Betrayal? Hell, Christiana even looks like Damien.

“Join me!” “Come with me!” Trailblazing reporter or Satan’s spawn? You be the judge.

Was I the only one who wanted to reach through my television set tonight, grab David Frum by his big-ass catfish lips and tear him a new asshole?

Maddow asked Dour David a question about the recent tone of the McCain campaign when he went all BTK Killer on her ass saying that her show was an example of the problem of the current political tone “with its heavy sarcasm and sneering.”

Frum then said he was trying his “little best” to raise the tone.

Well, Davy Wavy, as long as you’re trying your little best to raise the tone.

Who does this guy think he is? He was a speech writer for Bush. He’s responsible for helping W quite literally talk his way out of murder and he’s lecturing Maddow about the tone of her show? Has this guy ever had a belly laugh in his life? A walk on the beach at sunrise? A hot fudge sundae on a Tuesday afternoon? An orgasm that didn’t include pictures of Mitt Romney shirtless?

Rachel kept her cool, narrowed those steely eyes of hers and refused to let Fish Lips get away with saying her show was in any way the equivalent of someone yelling “Bomb Obama” at a McCain rally. More power to her! I would have booked a train to Washington, knocked on Frum’s door and busted up those ugly-ass fish lips of his. Maddow obviously has more class than I ever will. A lot more.

Gay Republicans are a pathetic little bouquet of pansies. They seek the light inside a dark closet, the door barely open a crack. Black Republicans are an even sadder bunch of boneheads. Now I don’t claim to know the black experience–I only claim to know the pink and brown one. I do know, however, that if you’re gay, you can remain in the closet. But if you’re black, all the ivory soap in the world isn’t going to wash the color God gave you off your body. And if you’re black and gay, then honey child, it’s best you come out of the closet and let yourself shine. I’ll even teach you how to order drinks in Spanish.

So it’s with some sadness but mostly shock that Ron Christie should play for the other team, the GOP. I don’t know if he’s gay, but he sure does sound it. And yes, I’m relying on a stereotype. Relax, I know a lot of gay men who are butcher than a Chuck Norris movie. I’m just saying that where there’s smoke, there’s usually a flamer.

Who is Ron Christie you ask?

Ron Christie is the black, balding, lazy-eyed, lisping pundit, the Black Republican Attack Puppy. He’s the Scrappy Doo of GOP politics, the Chicken Hawk out to get himself a chicken. And can it, I don’t mean it in THAT way. I mean it in the, he’s just so adorable and small and plucky and out to do battle with nothing more than his crooked grin and a lazy-ass eye way. What can I say? I’m a sucker for the underdog, no matter how pathetic.

I love Anny Curry. She’s the dependable straight man on The Today Show, the focused news reporter of the four, the one who stands aside and smiles warmly while the others do their tricks, make their jokes and mug for the camera. She’s the mama to their babies. The Barbara Hershey to their Bette Midler.

“Look Ma! I’m dressed like J-Lo!”

“Oh Mattie, you look just like her.”

“Look Ma! I’m driving an eighteen-wheeler!”

“Who says girls can’t do it all, Baby?”

“Look Ma! I can read the weather!”

“You can do anything you set your mind to, Al honey.”

It’s not the sexiest of jobs–though she does look sexy doing it–but someone has to be the straight man. Otherwise, you end up with a bunch of clowns (just watch Spanish language morning programs to see what I mean). Meredith Viera, Matt Lauer and Al Roker wouldn’t be nearly as funny if they didn’t have someone to play off of. That’s why it was odd but not surprising that Ms. Curry would also want a little of the limelight for herself, and so she enrolled in a course in how to be funny.

Ann isn’t a joke teller. Sure, she’ll go bungee jumping or flying through a forest on a rope, but Curry can’t tell a joke to save her life. Like this is news. What is news is that she’s actually pretty funny. Yes, Ann Curry is funny. Watch her stand-up routine at Caroline’s Comedy Club and judge for yourself. She’s mostly Curry, with a splash of Cho, but a class act all the way. Who gonna hate on my Annie now?

Have you seen Candy lately? Al? They went from fat to (relatively) thin to fat again in just a few months.

OK, Al’s weight piled on more slowly, his suits fitting tighter with each passing week, his chin adding more chins with every passing month. I’d be worried if I were Ann Curry. If Al skips breakfast one morning, he might just decide to take a bite out of something spicy.

“And coming up next on Today, Rosie Perez will introduce us to…oh my God! Stay away from me Roker. Away! No! No! Nooooooooo!”

At least Candy has reason to pack on the pounds. She actually has to work. Al just bounces around outside for a few hours telling us about the weather, interviewing stupid tourists and making small talk with colleagues. Hell, I could do THAT, especially with Matt Lauer. Metrosexualicious! We should all age so gracefully.

Poor Candy has to run after politicians, stay up late and sometimes appear on Lou Dobbs. Jesus, having to deal with that man would cause even a Mormon to take up drinking. Poor Candy has no defense against late night margaritas and Mexican buffets. I feel for her.

Let’s hope these two beloved “former” fatties get the help they need.

Matt Lauer and Al Roker are so gay. Gay not like me, who is in fact gay. But gay as in silly, corny or cheesy. Not that I’m above being a so gay gay, a gay so gay, or a ra, fa, la, te, do, so gay.

Matt is polished, poised and well preserved. Al is no longer fat but still jolly and squishy. Meredith Viera is much butcher than Katie Couric ever was. And my beloved Ann Curry (why do so many people like to hate on my Annie?) is sexy, serious and slightly androgynous. Meredith and Ann definitely wear the pants at The Today Show.

Yesterday, Matt and Al did that little dance routine with those skinny flags/sashes in Beijing. They fluttered around in tights and serious faces, emoting only with their eyes. Today, when Matt, Al, Meredith and Ann decided to run around the fountains in front of that funky bubble building housing the Olympic pool, it was the ladies who got themselves all wet. The “gentlemen” were too scared to join them, scared they’d ruin their expensive shoes and sweaters. So gay, as in like me.

Around the time my partner and I went to Sydney for vacation in early April, CNN Japan pulled American Morning from the evening lineup. At first I thought the absence of the program I love to hate was temporary. Besides, I had Australia to look forward to and then I was going to be in the U.S. for a month so I didn’t really care that much. I could get my American Morning fix in the actual morning and not in the evening the way I do in Tokyo.

Now that I’m back in Japan, I’ve learned that CNN Japan has changed its format almost entirely. An English journalist friend told me that it was a conscious decision to appeal to a more international audience. He claimed that BBC International was a lot more popular with non-Americans and that CNN Japan wanted to claim a larger share of this audience.

My friend is right about BBC being more popular with non-Americans in Japan and elsewhere. The U.S. is very unpopular abroad right now. Everyone knows that. OK, maybe not the hicks, hillbillies, inbreds and religious zealots back home, but they watch FOX News anyway. Incidentally, FOX News does not reach an international audience. Our allies in Europe and elsewhere think, rightfully so, that FOX News is some scary shit. My non-American friends ask me, “Don’t you know it’s propaganda?” I answer, “Hey, don’t look at me. I know it’s propaganda. Take your question up with Bubba in Texas and be sure to bring a loaded shotgun when you do.”

As an American living abroad, I like my U.S. focused news programs, especially in an important and entertaining election year. Besides, BBC International can be such a downer and it’s the only real alternative to CNN. The BBC didn’t see a tragedy, man-made or natural, it didn’t like. All you see is mutilated corpses in the dessert, starving black children with flies, screaming mothers in scarves and photos of Jude Law. It’s enough to make Julie Andrews take a flying leap off the Tower of London.

Thankfully, Lou Dobbs was pulled too. He really did go from likable crank to insufferable bastard in a few short months. I’m waiting for the day he looks into the camera and tells the viewing public of his plans to “blow his brains out” on the program live tomorrow like in the movie Network. “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore!”

Until then there is always more Max Foster.

When I go to Central Park I usually take a Frisbee, a picnic basket or some running shoes, depending on what I’ve planned that afternoon. Richard Quest prefers to take a sex toy, a rope tied from his neck to his johnson and some crystal meth. And he prefers to visit the park at three in the morning. In his defense, I guess it would be hard to catch a Frisbee in the dark, especially when one athletic jump in the air could mean instant castration.

Poor Richard’s Atlas, his career is over. Who could sit across a table from him and answer serious or even playful questions about business travel or “all that the glamorous life implies?” As for those of us watching from our living rooms, how can we watch him without imagining a rope tied from his neck to his dick? How comfortable is that!? I mean, I get it, he maybe took meth to ward off the constant jetlag. But a rope around his penis? A sex toy in his boot? It’s one thing to keep up, it’s an entirely different thing to keep it up.

The question is, who will CNN hire to replace the square-jawed, meth-addicted, formerly-closeted British Guy Smiley?